The last farewell
by Droplets of blue rain
Summary: So what? Cannot love come twice in one's life? Cannot a person fall in love more than once?


**Hi Guys! What's up?**

**Here remains a one-shot. Actually, Christmas is coming. So, I thought, "Why not a Christmas-oriented romantic short story?" :P **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

The living room was quite warm. It should've expressed its gratitude to the hearth for keeping it comfortable. Otherwise, it wouldn't remain suitable for someone to lean his head against the sofa and read a thick book, yawning slightly. At that moment, the person inside it had no feeling of the weather outside.

Over his head, a crystalline chandelier was hanging from the roof. Its hazy light created an enigmatic aura in the room. At a corner, there was a newly bought Christmas tree. Its fine leaves became hard….thanks to the cold waves of December. If anyone kept a finger on one of their blades, his or her finger might bleed a bit.

"Maxie!"

Hearing the honeyed tone, the young guy around 22-23 put the book on the wooden round-table and stood up. Soon, a blonde lady entered the room.

"Good evening, mom," he bowed, "How was your day?"

"Good evening, my child," the lady caressed the head of the guy, "The day was perfect. How was yours?"

"Not bad," the hyperactive boy chuckled, "Because of the weather's rudeness, the office is closed. It will open in the new year, maybe."

"Closed….because of the weather?" Judy raised an eyebrow, "My son, weren't you supposed to get your Christmas leave?"

"Not like that, mom," Max scratched his head, "You know, we work in an editorial board, involved with literature, books, magazines, newspapers and other stuffs. So, it's quite hard for us to manage holidays."

"I can understand, Maxie," Judy smiled, "By the way…..isn't your company publishing a special Christmas magazine in this year?"

"Well….." Max replied, "We've already collected and selected writings from different writers. But look…..the weather….."

"Don't worry, Maxie," the old woman kept a hand on the shoulder of her son, "If you all want, you may publish it online."

Hearing his mom, he kept staring at her for a few seconds. Then, gradually, his face beamed up, like a dozen of 100 watt electric bulbs. Punching on his left palm, He leapt, "Wow! Why didn't I think of it? Thank you so much, mom! You're the best mom of this world!"

"You're welcome, my son," Judy's teeth flashed, "Now go and contact with your colleagues. Before taking a step, you should take their opinions."

"Of course, mom," Max again jumped and headed for the staircase in order to go to his room.

Seeing her son, the blonde lady grimaced. Her son had been a little boy once. Riding bicycles, he had crossed many roads. He had swum in ponds when it had been summer. On rainy days, he had played football in muddy fields.

He was a grown up guy. Like other guys, he had someone whom he loved a lot. With that girl, he had decided to spend the rest of his life. After the Christmas, their wedding would take place.

Emily Watson. She was not a gorgeous and dazzling diva. Her orange-colored hair touched her shoulders. When sunlight fell on her hair, it flickered like fireflies. Her skin portrayed the mixture of milk and turmeric paste. She always seemed bathed in moonlight. Her eyes were bluish grey, almost representing the sky before sunrise. She wasn't so tall but her figure was attractive. When she played tennis, her slender thighs beneath her green short-skirt snatched the slumber of nights from several men. Lidded under her spectacles, her sharpened orbs stabbed arrows right at the pounding hearts of them, making them bulls' eyes. When she wore yellow top and bottle-green skirt, Max often mocked her, calling her an orange tree.

Nah, she wasn't a fashionista who liked to display her exquisiteness. She was a bookworm, loved reading books and bourgeoning the storehouse of her knowledge. She was both a professional tennis player and a lecturer of one of the best colleges of America. When she went to college, her outfit was usually modest. She wanted to give her best to her students at her workplace. Yes, Max's mom, Judy Tate, was the principal of the same college.

Max and Emily were friends since their childhood. They had played in the fields together, studied together in libraries, experimented together in laboratories and at last but not at least, they were going to live together for the rest of their lives.

"Mom!"

Judy backed to reality as her son called her from upstairs. Swiftly reaching the room of Max, she responded, "I'm here, Maxie."

"The chores are almost done," he expressed his typical hyper nature, "Just the illustrators are designing the cover page of our magazine. We can hope it to be completed by 9 pm."

"Great," Judy slapped on Max's shoulder, "I'm proud of you, son."

"You've to understand whose son I am, mom," the American guy giggled, "By the way…..do you know where Emily is?"

"Emily?" Judy seemed confused. At the next moment, she smilingly responded, "Oh, I forgot to tell you that Emily went to pay a visit to her cousin. She'll come back by the Christmas day."

"Well," Max cleared his throat, "She didn't tell me about that."

"She wanted to tell you, my son," the mother ruffled the hair of her son, "But you were so busy that she didn't disturb you. Rather, she told me to inform you."

"Mom, how could she go outside in such a rude weather?" the American frowned, "I mean…didn't you let her use one of our cars?"

"I insisted a lot, Maxie," Judy sighed, "But you know her, she doesn't want to take advantages from us before her marriage. She cares a lot for her own self-respect and moralities."

"Great!" The hyperactive American gritted his fists.

"Don't be so upset, Max," his mother stroke his back, "She doesn't want us to get troubled. She doesn't only love us but also cares for us. Why don't you do one thing? Call her and know her location. Before the day of Christmas, visit her and bring her here. We'll celebrate this Christmas together."

"You're right, mom," Max got softened, "I'm calling her right now."

"Sure, my child," Judy permitted.

Disconnecting the call, Max kept the phone on the table. Emily was always a gentle and understanding girl. No, she was a convincing girl more than being an understanding one. She surely knew the things well that were important for keeping a family happy and satisfied. When Max felt distressed, he went to Emily so that she could soothe him. They were best friends who could understand and convince each other easily. They talked to each other opening all the windows and doors of their hearts. They joked, they mocked and they laughed. They bought gifts and necessary items for each other. Sometimes, Emily paid Max a surprise visit. On his last birthday, the orangette had cooked 22 items for him.

22 items? Seriously? Recalling the event, Max almost sniggered. Let alone 22 items, an ordinary girl couldn't prepare even 10 items for her lover on a single day.

Nah, Emily wasn't an ordinary one. She was extraordinary. She was special. More than a companion. More than a friend. More than a relative.

"_More than kin, less than kind." _

The famous quotation from the play "Hamlet" composed by William Shakespeare rose in his neuron cells as he gasped, standing up. Yes, Emily was his fiancée, his friend, his faithful companion…..but did he love her? Really?

* * *

**Flashback: **

"Hey, are you blind?"

That sugar-coated voice chimed in the ears of the blonde American as he wheezed, stepping back. There was standing a tall and slim girl, around 19-20. Her leafy green orbs were glimmering like the rain-drenched fresh and new leaves of a tree. Her skin tone was golden, just like the lonely sand of any isolated desert. She kept her royal-blue hair untied, embodying the mien of the starless night sky. Her hair was blowing with the breeze of autumn, protesting for its own independence. She was wearing a dark-green kimono with lime-colored linings. The edge of her dress was touching the ground. Two or three green roses were tucked on her right ear, in her hair. She held a disturbed expression all over her face but that didn't reduce her comeliness.

"Sorry, miss," he knelt down, picking the books, "I didn't see that you were coming. Have you got hurt?"

"No, not really," she grinned, "I'm not a doll made of cream."

"I know that," Max stood up, handing the books to her, "Here they go."

"Thank you," her sour mien became slightly sweet.

"I'm Max Tate," he expanded his hand, "I'm from America."

"Wow!" She bowed, "I'm Mariam. Mariam Hirata. I'm a Japanese girl."

"You can take me as a half-Japanese," Max gently took the right hand of the girl and put a kiss on its back, "My father is Japanese and mother is American."

"Oh….I didn't know…." Feeling embarrassed, Mariam removed her hand.

"Don't worry, miss," Max smiled, "It's just a style of greeting a lady in America."

"It's okay," she lowered her eyes, "But Japanese girls aren't comfortable with it. By the way, I loved the style."

"Glad you loved it," Max scratched his head, "I've come here to visit my father. Would you like to go with me to my residence?"

"Sorry, not today, Mr. Tate," Mariam shook her head, "It's already been late, I've to go home. But I promise you that I'll pay you a visit in the next week."

"Sure," Max waved his hand, "See you, Miss Hirata."

"See you too, Mr. Tate."

* * *

"_**The sky doesn't adorn itself without you, **_

_**The wind doesn't blow its whistles without you, **_

_**Let me tell you the fairy tale of love and affection, **_

_**Hearing which you may get a sign, a sensation. **_

_**All the day, you're being so colorful, **_

_**Yet, towards me, you haven't become mindful. **_

_**All the night, I cannot sleep without holding your hands. **_

_**Don't leave my ones, otherwise, I may get mixed with sands." **_

"You're a great poetess, Mariam," he applauded, "I loved it!"

"Thank you, Max," she blushed, "But it hasn't been so good."

"Good?" Max cocked an eyebrow, "If I use this word to evaluate your poem, it'll be dishonoring. Your poems are mind-blowing!"

"Hey, don't you compose poems?" Mariam poked him.

"Yes, a few," he nodded, "May I recite one?"

"Why not?"

"Okay then."

"_**Look! The snow is falling,**_

_**Look! The reindeer are calling, **_

_**Saying, "Merry Christmas". **_

_**Hear! The bells are ringing,**_

_**Hear! The birds are singing, **_

_**Saying, "Merry Christmas". **_

_**Smell! The flowers are blooming,**_

_**Smell! The aura is hardly glooming,**_

_**Saying, "Merry Christmas"." **_

"Aww….it's so kawaii!" Mariam leapt, "You're such a cute poet, Max!"

"Thank you," he sheepishly scratched his head, "I'm not so perfect."

"Nobody is perfect in this world, Max," the bluenette kept a hand on his shoulder, "But I love your attitude and feelings for literature."

"Yes, literature is an elixir to me," he gazed down, "It removes by dullness and bring me to life when I'm sad. You know what? My studies are related to it too!"

"Lucky you're!" Mariam smiled, "I'm also studying on Japanese literature."

"Japanese literature is very soft and simple," the American stated, "Not so gorgeous like our one."

"But simplicity has its own beauty," Mariam affirmed.

"Just like you."

"Max!"

Hearing his father's tone, the hyperactive boy got up from his bed. Seeing Taro in front of the open door of his room, he asked, "Dad, you're here? Come in."

"There's a good news, Max," Taro seemed happy, "Your mother is coming here tomorrow with Emily."

"What?" Max raised an eyebrow, "With whom?"

"C'mon Maxie, have you forgotten your childhood friend?" His father frowned, "With Emily. She wanted to enjoy the atmosphere of Japan."

Max looked at the royal-blue haired girl. She seemed confused too. But removing the confusion, she stood up and smiled.

"Max, Mr. Tate, it's been late," she bowed, "I've to return."

"Why so soon, my girl?" Taro offered, "Have dinner here."

"No thanks, Mr. Tate," Mariam gently rejected, "I'll come here tomorrow to meet Mrs. Tate and Miss Emily. Good bye."

"Bye, go carefully," Taro waved.

* * *

"So, you're the blueberry, aren't you?" The orangette had a glimpse of the bluenette, "Succulent, huh!"

"Thanks," Mariam retorted, "So nice to meet a juicy orange like you, Miss Watson."

"Oranges are tastier," Emily winked.

"And blueberries are more nutritious."

"But men crave for beauty," the orangette wiped her face using her handkerchief, "That's what their nature is. Oh….so hot it is!"

"But it's December now!"

"I've come from America, you know," Emily huffed, "I cannot cope with the environment of warm countries. However, you love literature, don't you?"

"Yes. What about you?"

"Literature is weak," Emily licked her lips, "If you love gaining knowledge, you should study science. Science will teach you the real meaning of your life."

"Only science isn't enough to realize the ultimate goal of life, Miss Watson," Mariam objected gently, "Literature will teach you love, care, respect, affection and other emotions. Science is materialistic but literature is spiritual. Both build our life properly."

"Girls, what's going on?" The American guy peeped.

"Nothing, just a simple chat," Emily smirked, "Oh…..I've something for you."

Standing up and putting out a velvet box, the orangette opened it. There was a ring, made of diamond and emerald.

"Remember?" Emily asked, "Before a year, you gave it to me."

Mariam froze. Unable to believe her eyes, she turned her face from the scene.

"Don't be a forgetful guy, Max," the tennis-player spoke, "I know what your feelings were at that time. I was just acting to ignore you because I wanted to hear your beautiful words for me. Happiness is…..Mrs. Tate has also agreed."

"Congratulations!" Mariam somehow showed her teeth, "Max, I never knew that you love someone!"

"He's forgetful, Mariam," Emily blinked, "But he has remembered, hasn't he?"

"Y….yes…."

"Then….it's fixed!" The orangette hopped, "I'm going to play a tennis match here tomorrow. If you're interested, don't forget to enjoy it! See ya!"

Once the spectacled girl left the room, Mariam approached Max. Softly keeping a hand on his shoulder, she muttered, "You never told me."

"I didn't remember." Max bent his head down.

"It's okay," she smiled, "Congrats, once again!"

Like the stormy wind of June, she disappeared from the room.

* * *

**Flash forward: **

'So what?' He thought, 'Cannot love come twice? Cannot someone fall in love more than once?'

'Love isn't so cheap that you distribute it among two persons.' Someone offended.

'Maybe, but I'm not distributing it,' The blonde bit his inner lip, 'Rather, I'm giving it. Giving it to two different persons who are precious for me. I'm not going to deprive any of them.'

"**You've one…new message." **

Hearing the notification, Max rushed to his phone. Opening his email account, he tapped on the unread message. There appeared a photo of a wedding invitation card. Something was written there too:

"_**Can you hear the sound of the eternal journey? **_

_**Its chariots are always disappearing, **_

_**Like the dew drops on the blades of grass, **_

_**In the dawn, like all the faults of the past, repairing, **_

_**Our ways are separated, are our thoughts? **_

_**I don't know….I'm gonna lie on someone's chest, **_

_**Till then….Goodbye, farewell, **_

_**Maybe it's the last one…..and history is the rest! **_

_**-Mariam."**_

* * *

**I know, you guys have already started badmouthing Emily, Max...even me! But trust me, these situations rise in reality. They do rise :)**

**Do read and review. Pardon the grammatical and the spelling errors of this story. Take care :***

**Misty ^_^ **


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